


Convergence Part I: The Second Law of Thermodynamics

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [53]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: The Convergence is approaching.  The Nine Realms of Yggdrasil are coming together over London.  But in Amy and Rory’s house, things have gotten seriously out of alignment.





	Convergence Part I: The Second Law of Thermodynamics

**Author's Note:**

> At this point I just need to set up a “thanks and kudos” altar for my beta, **like-a-raven**. It will feature candles, offerings of tea, and Tom Hiddleston reading Shakespeare’s Sonnets.
> 
> Oh, Amy and Rory. By and large they have come to terms with the fallout of _Demons Run._ But grief is rarely a neat and straightforward thing, and sometimes things have to get worse before they can start to get better.
> 
> This is the first story in a three-parter that will take place against the backdrop of the events of _Thor: The Dark World._

“The more you put things together, the more they keep falling apart, and that’s the essence of the second law of thermodynamics.”

_Fourth Doctor, Logopolis_

_March 2013_  
 _London, England_

“I’m going to go stay with Dad for a few days,” Rory said. “I think we both need some breathing room.”

Rory stood just inside the front door looking a little awkward, but very much resolved. His duffle bag sat by his feet. Amy couldn’t help but note how full it seemed, stuffed like a sausage. It had to be more than a few days worth of clothes, didn’t it? It was all Amy could do hold her ground. She planted herself in the doorway to the kitchen and folded her arms. 

“I think that’s probably for the best,” she replied.

Rory nodded, but didn’t make any immediate move toward the door. Amy was torn between hoping he’d change his mind and wanting to shove him outside so they could get this over with.

“Call me if. . .” Rory trailed off, looking like he’d simply run out of steam. He picked up his duffle bag, took his jacket from the rack, and left. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Amy half wished he’d slammed it instead.

She stood there for several minutes before she turned, walked slowly back into the kitchen, and slumped down into her seat at the table. Her laptop was still open, a half-finished article on the screen. The television on the counter was showing a news report about a crazy old man streaking at Stonehenge. Amy picked up the remote and shut it off. She rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. How had they got here?

_Little by little, that’s how._

Amy really had thought that everything was going to be fine after River’s wedding. And for the most part things had been, at least for a little while. The wedding was beautiful. Amy and Rory were both incredibly happy for River. And after the encounter in Queens, Amy had actually felt at peace over the turn her life and her family had taken. 

It had probably been naive to think that everything would be all sunshine and rainbows now.

Amy sighed and shut down her laptop. As much as she hated to admit it, a few days of solitude and cease-fire sounded really good. Rory was right; they both needed some breathing room. They were rubbing each other the wrong way almost constantly these days. Last week they’d had a huge fight over which kitchen cabinet the plates should be stored in, for heaven’s sake. They needed to take a step back.

“Stiff upper lip, Pond,” she muttered to herself. It wouldn’t do any good to wallow.

It was five-thirty. Amy decided that was late enough to sort out dinner. She went to the fridge, hoping there was still some leftover chinese food hanging about. 

Of course, the first thing she saw when she opened the door was Rory’s lunchbox. Amy had found one with Roman centurions on it and given it to him for Valentine’s Day. (Valentine’s Day had been good. They’d gone almost a whole week without a blow up.) Rory had laughed and proudly carried the lunch box off to work every day. Amy sighed and closed the door. On second thought, she wasn’t hungry. 

She climbed the stairs to their bedroom instead. Rory had left a stack of clean scrubs on the bed. Amy tossed them into the wardrobe and firmy closed the door on them. Rory had started taking a lot of extra shifts at the hospital, because dealing with sick people was apparently more pleasant than being at home. Amy crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling of the dim room. So much for not wallowing.

They had argued over Rory’s time at the hospital. They had argued over Amy’s job, writing articles for an online travel magazine. They had argued over the volume of the telly, how to put together a set of Ikea shelves, the state of the back garden, spending Sunday mornings with Rory’s dad, and even the bill-filing system. 

Only once, just a few days ago, had they argued about the thing that lay underneath all the other arguments. They had been putting away dishes when Rory had suggested going to see a marriage counselor.

“And tell them what exactly?” Amy had asked. 

“That we lost our child and we’re having a hard time dealing with things.”

God, he was so practical she wanted to smack him sometimes.

“I don’t want to go to a counselor,” Amy had said firmly. She’d had her fill of psychiatrists as a kid, thank you very much. Years and years of being told that her Raggedy Man and his police box were only her imagination. “Maybe we should call the Doctor. See what he thinks.”

Rory had slammed a cabinet shut. “Right. Of course. We have to consult the Doctor. It’s not like he ever makes a situation worse. Or just makes it bad to begin with.”

Things had gotten heated. Rory had slept in the guest room. Now Amy supposed he was going to sleep on his dad’s sofa.

Amy had taken a morbid poke at Google a few weeks ago, reading up on divorce rates among couples who’s lost a child. It hadn’t been as dire as she’d anticipated, but that hadn’t made her feel much better.

_We didn’t lose our child,_ Amy told herself. Well, they had, but they hadn’t. River was alive and well and part of their lives. And Amy and Rory weren’t heading for a divorce. At least Amy hoped they weren’t. As crazy as he’d been driving her lately, she really didn’t want to lose Rory.

Amy reached over to the nightstand for her phone and flipped to her contacts. She automatically scrolled to the Doctor’s name and she was just about to call him when she stopped herself. She couldn’t drag the Doctor into this, not without making things that much worse. She thought briefly about calling River, but she’d spoken to River just a couple of days ago and had been purposefully cheery and “everything is grand here.” She didn’t want to make River worry.

She couldn’t call her parents because if she did her mother would be on the next train to London. She couldn’t call any of her girlfriends because, well, to say that they lacked some relevant context was putting it mildly. Not to mention the fact that the news that “Amy and Rory are having problems” would circulate through their circle of friends like wildfire.

Amy sighed in disgust, put her phone back on the nightstand, and curled up. In spite of the early hour and the daylight outside, she fell asleep.

*****

Rory gave his dad some credit for waiting until _after_ he’d pulled out the guest blankets and pillows before saying, “Whatever it is, I’m sure if you apologize Amy will take you back.”

“Two things, Dad,” Rory said wearily. “Firstly, Amy didn’t kick me out. Secondly, this situation is not entirely my fault.”

No, Amy hadn’t kicked him out, but she also hadn’t looked too sorry to see the back of him. As much as Rory knew they needed some time away from each other, a part of him had hoped she’d ask him to stay. 

His dad looked dubious. Brian Williams was a man who always wanted to fix things, whether it was a faulty light fitting, an uneven table, a badly-staked tomato plant, or apparently his son’s marriage.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Brian urged. “I’m sure between the two of us we can figure this out. Tell me what’s gone wrong between the two of you.”

_“Dad.”_ Rory sank back in his chair rubbing his hands over his face. “I really don’t want to talk about it. And before you ask, no I don’t want you to go over to the house to talk to Amy for me.”

He immediately felt guilty for being snappish, but he knew that would be Brian’s next suggestion. This was one of the (few) problems with having known your wife since you were both seven years old. In many ways, Brian considered Amy his second child, and had long before she and Rory had married. 

“Just let me work this out on my own,” Rory said in a more even tone. “Please.”

“All right,” Brian said. He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair for a moment before pushing himself up. “Well, you’ll need some dinner,” he said, heading for the kitchen. “I have some roast and potatoes I can reheat.”

Rory wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t protest. He slumped in the armchair, listening to his dad putter in the kitchen. If he closed his eyes he could be back in their cottage in Leadworth.

Brian had let the cottage to a nice teacher when he’d decided to follow Rory and Amy’s lead and move to London. It was backwards, Rory thought. Most people got to Brian’s age, retired, and moved out of London to the quiet country village, not the other way around. Brian had made noises about how the house and yard were getting to be too much work and how a small flat would be easier to take care of and would free him up to enjoy his retirement years. 

Rory knew it was bollocks. Brian Williams was nowhere near slowing down. He was forever playing the handyman around Rory and Amy’s place and spent a lot of his spare time gardening in the allotment. And he’d had a full and busy life in Leadworth. No, Brian had picked up stakes and moved to London for one reason only: to be close to his family.

Now that family was teetering. It was no wonder Brian wanted to get right to fixing things. Only this situation wasn’t Brian’s to fix. It was Rory and Amy’s. Assuming they could figure out how.

*****

Amy woke up at three o’clock in the morning feeling bizarrely energized. Or maybe it wasn’t so bizarre, she thought. She had, after all, gone to bed before six the evening before. Whatever the reason she was wide awake and the thought rolling over and going back to sleep wasn’t appealing at all. Amy threw back the blankets and padded into the bathroom.

Half an hour later she was showered, dressed, and back at the kitchen table with her laptop and a cup of tea. The keys clicked briskly under her fingers, paragraphs spinning out neatly on the screen. Perhaps it was the silence of the wee small hours or the lack of tension in the house. Perhaps Amy was just trying to distract herself from that very quiet and solitude. Either way it was the most productive four-hour block of writing Amy had experienced in quite some time. She finished the article that was due, then drafted the next one, and organized her notes and drew up detailed outlines for the two after that.

Amy closed down her laptop and blinked to see that strong shafts of sunlight were coming in through the kitchen windows. Morning had snuck up on her. She was well ahead on work now, but still had energy to burn. _I should clean out the refrigerator. And the hall closet. The rugs need attention too._

She’d keep herself busy. Far less time to think about things that way.

*****

Rory bolted awake in the dark and for a moment had no idea where he was. His memory kicked into gear a few seconds later and he recognized his surroundings. Those were Dad’s bookcases. Those were Dad’s framed photographs on the wall. This was Dad’s sofa he was using as a bed.

Rory shivered as he remembered the nightmare that had woken him up.

_He was outside his house. The TARDIS was parked there, the Doctor standing by it. As Rory watched, Amy came out the front door carrying her suitcase. She locked the front door, bent down, and tucked her key under the doormat. The Doctor regarding her curiously as she came down the front steps._

_“You’re not bringing your key?” he asked._

_“Why should I?” Amy replied, walking past the Doctor and into the TARDIS. “It’s not like I’m ever coming back here.”_

_Rory could only watch helplessly and silently as the TARDIS disappeared, taking Amy away for good. He remained rooted to the spot outside the empty house as the seasons changed and years passed by. At one point Rory realized that he was wearing his old centurion’s uniform and that the house had turned into the Pandorica, the great stone box he’d guarded for two thousand years in a timeline that no longer existed. Only this time there was no Amy inside to keep safe. She was gone._

Rory flopped back onto his pillow and rubbed his hands over his face. He had never been much of one for trying to interpret his dreams, but he’d have to be thoroughly oblivious not to know what that one had meant. And it was ridiculous. Amy wouldn’t just take off with the Doctor and never come back, no matter how angry she was. 

Knowing that, though, didn’t stop Rory from feeling thoroughly unsettled. He checked his watch. It was just past four in the morning. Rory got up, quietly got dressed in the dark living room, and left his dad’s flat. 

It was a short walk between the flat and the house. The sidewalks were deserted and Rory could only see an occasional light on in the houses he passed. _This is stupid._ Amy wasn’t even going to be up. Was he supposed to sneak into the house to reassure himself that she was still there?

As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Rory could see a faint light in the living room window. When he crept closer to the house he could see that the light was coming from the kitchen. He could see Amy through the doorway. She was sitting at the table working on her laptop, her new reading glasses perched on her nose. 

He could go in, and for a moment he was tempted. He had his keys. Instead Rory quietly withdrew again. _Breathing room._ It had been his idea. He needed to stick with it.

He was back at the flat and had breakfast on the table by the time his dad got up.

*****

Over the next few days Rory’s life swung like a pendulum between his dad’s sofa and the hospital.

“Rory, man, I have to say I love having you here more,” his supervisor, Ranjit, said. “God knows I’ve wanted you to come on full time for ages. But I have to ask, is everything all right?”

They were in the hospital cafeteria. Among the stuff Rory had realized he’d forgotten at the house was his lunch box. Also his clean scrubs. Fortunately he had a pair or two hanging out in his locker. 

“Sure,” he replied. “Of course. Everything’s fine.”

And it was. Aside from desperately missing Amy and generally feeling helpless to fix what was broken between them, everything was just fine.

Ranjit looked a little skeptical. “Because if you need to take some time off. . .”

“Definitely not,” Rory said. “I’ve just been thinking that full time might not be a bad thing, that’s all. I’m good.”

“Okay. I just don’t want to burn out one of my best nurses.”

“No chance of that.”

Not right now anyway. He liked being at the hospital. At the hospital things made sense. Once his shifts were over, though, Rory was at loose ends. He went back to his dad’s flat and plonked down on the sofa. He slept on the sofa. He spent most of his free time over the next few days on the sofa, either watching the telly or staring at the ceiling.

Brian was in and out a lot. Rory’s dad had built up a busy social calendar in his new neighborhood. He left Rory alone for the most part aside from hovering on his way out the door with an expectant expression and saying things like, “I’m heading down to do some work at the allotment,” or “I’m off to meet up with my walking group,” or “Pub quiz?” Rory let the heavily-implied invitations slide by him with a, “Have a good time.”

He was on the sofa flipping channels when he happened upon the news report.

“The man who was at the center of Monday’s disruption at Stonehenge has been identified as Dr. Erik Selvig, a professor of theoretical astrophysics,” the newscaster said. The image cut to shaky footage of a blessedly blurred nude man being pursued by police officers through the stone monoliths. A small headshot of the man in question appeared down in the corner. “Very few details have been released except to say that Dr. Selvig is safe in psychiatric custody. No one was harmed during the incident.” 

Dr. Erik Selvig. Rory vaguely remembered the man from New Mexico a couple of years back. He’d also been in New York during the Chitauri invasion, though Rory hadn’t seen him then. Selvig had been kidnapped by Loki along with Clint. Clint had told Rory about it in the aftermath of the battle, and apparently even under mind control Clint couldn’t stand the guy.

The news anchors had moved on to talking about unusual weather patterns being reported around London. Rory shut the television off. For a moment he thought about calling SHIELD to alert them, but then common sense kicked in. If Dr. Selvig was being name-checked on BBC World News, then SHIELD surely already knew what was up. They didn’t need Rory’s help.

*****

“I’ll say this,” Amy said. “Turbulent emotional states are the worst. On the other hand, this house has never been cleaner.”

No one answered her. That was probably a good thing, considering the only ones around to hear Amy were the potted herbs sitting on the kitchen counter. Amy had bought them with the intent of planting them in the back garden. She’d got them home before remembering that March in London with its chancy weather was probably not the best time to set out plants. Amy had never claimed to be a gardener. She left that to Brian.

_Poor Brian._ Amy’s father-in-law had dropped by the house twice in the past few days. Both times Amy had kept out of sight and pretended not to be at home. She hated to do it. She loved Brian and knew that he was probably worried. She was also reasonably sure that Brian had come over against Rory’s wishes. As much as Amy would like to talk to him, she didn’t want to put Brian in the middle of this mess. That wasn’t fair to anyone.

Instead, Amy kept herself very, very busy. Really, her productivity level was hovering somewhere just below “magic elf cobbling shoes in the night.” She worked ahead on articles. When she ran out of those she attacked the house, sweeping and vacuuming and scrubbing, and trying not to dwell on the fact that these were chores that she and Rory always tackled together.

She organized all of the books in the living room alphabetically by author. She purged the linen closet, cleaned out the refrigerator, and painted the bench in the back garden. She reorganized the household bills according to her filing system (which was the better one, no matter what Rory thought). She sorted out all of the emails in her inbox and updated her calendar for the next year. 

Amy was sitting at the kitchen table surfing the net and bookmarking complicated DIY projects when a familiar sound drifted through the open windows. Amy looked up just in time to see the TARDIS materialize in the back garden. 

For the first time ever, the sight made Amy cringe. For a moment she considered running upstairs and pretending not to be home. _Like that would work,_ she thought. The Doctor was never that easily fooled (except when he was).

“Just deal with it, Pond,” she muttered, closing her laptop. If the Doctor asked where Rory was, she’d just tell him the truth. She was a grown woman. She was allowed to be on the outs with her husband. 

Amy was standing at the open back door, arms crossed, when the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS.

_To be continued. . ._

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in soon for _Convergence Part II_ , in which the Doctor goes to SHIELD to recruit some big guns to help get Amy and Rory sorted out.


End file.
